


Bridge Over Troubled Water

by sawbones



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Setting: Zombie Apocalypse, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 03:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11245767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawbones/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: Some lines can't be uncrossed, but they can be washed away.





	Bridge Over Troubled Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lithophene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithophene/gifts).



> A commission for the very patient [lithophene](http://lithophene.tumblr.com/), who should also get credit for being beta bc my gay ass can't spell.
> 
> Set a week or so after [Training Wheels](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916922). Please note that the sexual harassment tag is for a brief scene at the beginning, not a recurring theme.

Mason knew the time between Remy being well enough to get out of bed and Remy being well enough to start going out on runs again would be too short, especially if the man himself had any say in the matter, so they were both trying to make the most of it. Mason wasn’t sentimental enough to shirk his duties, but he did the next best thing and brought Remy along with him, took the opportunity to teach him a little of the basics, a mirror to their time in the garage working on the bike together. 

They were working on the never-ending project of continuously repairing and improving the fence, reinforcing supports, carefully replacing the weakest or most damaged panels when it was quiet enough. The fence was their lifeline, the one thing that stood between Haven and the dangers beyond, both living and not - not that Mason had any over-inflated ideas of his role in its upkeep. It was purely a practical choice, since he’d been a carpenter in his old life; anyone could do it with the right training, and it was always good to have an extra pair of hands around.

Remy picked it up pretty easily, which was unsurprising considering he was no stranger to working with his hands. He already knew a lot of what Mason was trying to teach him - more than Mason knew about mechanics anyway - but he had the good grace to humor him, even if it was just to be near him for a while longer. He wasn’t exactly subtle but Mason found he didn’t mind, even with the others working near-by. In fact, he kinda liked it; liked the way their fingers brushed when they reached for the measuring tape at the same time, liked the way Remy leaned into him when they shared the same side of the makeshift workbench. Liked the way Remy’s eyes lingered a little too long when he popped the top two buttons of his shirt, his cheeks flushed and not just from the sun.

Red cheeks aside, it was indeed an unusually hot day for the time of year and they were on the wrong side of the fence to get any shade as they worked. Remy peeled off to go get some water while Mason stayed behind, chewing on the end of a pencil nub as he measured and marked off lengths of timber to make a new look-out platform. He pulled a cotton handkerchief out his pocket and dabbed at the beads of sweat collecting under his collar; a shadow fell across his work bench, and he half-turned with a smile, expecting to see Remy.

His smile quickly faded when he saw who it actually was.

“Dax,” he said with a nod, less a greeting and more a clipped acknowledgement. Wherever he went, trouble usually followed close behind. Still, Mason couldn’t bring himself to tell him to fuck off outright - not yet, anyway. 

“You know, Mason,” Dax began as he leaned against the bench, the extra weight causing it to shift and throw off Mason’s careful measurements, “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“How’d you figure that,” Mason said. He knew he was just taking the bait but sometimes it was the fastest way to get rid of Dax if Cal wasn’t around. 

“First trailer-trash piece of ass comes sniffing around and you just bend right over like a bitch,” Dax said. Mason could feel his ears turning red at the smear against Remy; he kept his eyes fixed on the timber but he didn’t miss the way Dax’s shit-eating grin grew, “Oh, so it’s true? Never thought you had it in you-- well, guess you have now.”

Mason clenched his jaw, angled himself away from Dax a little more. He knew him and Remy weren’t exactly a secret, but his business was his own and no-one else’s, “You goin’ somewhere with this?”

“Might be,” Dax said. He took Mason turning away from him as an opportunity to step into his space, practically molded to his side; he was close enough that his breath tickled Mason’s ear, brought his arms out in the worst kind of goosebumps despite the heat, “Where do you want me to go with this, Mason? I can take it all the way to my room, show you exactly what you’ve been missing while you’ve been fucking around with that little pencil-dick.”

“Not interested,” Mason gritted out. He got his elbow up in between them, tried to shoved Dax away but he persisted, one arm sneaking around Mason’s waist to hold him in place.

“C’mon sweetheart, don’t be like that,” Dax crooned with a roll of his hips, grinding himself against Mason, “We don’t get much in the way of fresh meat around here, and you’re still about as fresh as they come. I don’t mind sloppy seconds. Tell me, is he really a good enough lay to turn you, or was your arm just getting tired? ‘Cause I promise I’ll be better.”

Mason tried to stay calm, tried to breathe through the shudder of disgust that gripped him. Logically he knew Dax was just trying to fuck with him, provoke him into doing something stupid - Dax wouldn’t actually try anything in public with other people in view...probably. Even so, Mason’s fight or flight reflex manifested itself as a rather useless attempt at figuratively playing dead, screwing his eyes shut and pushing him away, ignoring Dax and hoping he’d go away even as the wet tip of a tongue traced the shell of his ear--

\--and then just like that, it was gone. Dax’s arm was ripped away from his waist, and there was a split-second scuffle followed by the dull sound of a fist on flesh. Mason opened his eyes just in time to see Dax staggering backwards, his hand over his mouth. Remy was standing between them, his fists raised, shoulders squared. There was a bottle of water at his feet, dropped and forgotten, spilling its contents into the parched grass.

“You’ve got five seconds to disappear or the next one is going to knock your teeth right down your fucking throat,” Remy snarled, rocking on his feet like a boxer. 

“Fuck, I’m surprised you could even reach,” Dax said with a laugh, inspecting his fingers for blood. His teeth were pink with it but his lip hadn’t split, “But what’s the big rush, short-stack? I was just having a  _ little _ chat with your man here. Didn’t your mama ever teach you to share? There’s more than enough of him to go around.”

Mason managed to hook Remy by his elbow before he could lunge at Dax, something that only made the other man laugh harder. He squeezed his arm, pressed a little of himself against his back, “It’s fine, Remy. He’s not worth it.”

Dax had nearly half a foot on Remy, and he was plenty strong too; he knew Remy was a scrapper but it was still a fight Mason would rather avoid, especially over something so stupid. He pulled against him a little, maybe for show as much as anything else, though Mason didn’t doubt for a second he was ready to do something stupid. There was no-one there to hold Dax back; he took a half step closer again, head cocked to the side mockingly, “That’s it, Mason. Keep your  _ dog  _ under control.”

Mason felt Remy stiffen under his hand, “What the fuck did you just call me?”

“What, can you not hear me down there? I called you a dog, boy. An ugly  _ fucking _ mutt--”

The sentence was barely passed his lips before Remy hauled himself out of Mason’s hold and launched himself at Dax, teeth bared, fists swinging. He managed to get a couple good hits in before Dax was able to get a good grip on him, arm round his neck. He landed a sharp jab on Remy’s injured side that left him breathless, and Mason tried to force his way between them before he could do it again but it was like trying to break up two fighting pitbulls.

They were starting to gather a crowd, other workers that had been nearby jogging over to see what the fuss was about. Most of them stood watching with their arms crossed or their hands on their hips, but a sudden commotion let Mason know that at least one of them had the good sense to run and fetch Cal. He didn’t need to push through the crowd, they parted for him easily.

“Dax, Remy, break it up  _ right  _ fucking now,” he barked, but he may as well have been speaking chinese for all they listened. If anything, Dax tightened his hold on Remy, who began to struggle hard, feet lashing out in the hopes of catching him in the knee and bringing him down. It wasn’t until Cal grabbed his arm to physically pull them apart which caused Dax to lose balance and accidentally clip Mason right across the face, did either of them stop. 

Cal took advantage of Dax’s momentary surprised to wrench his arm up behind his back, a cuff around his wrist before he could even blink. Numbed by the shock a little, Mason held on to Remy - who was still ready to brawl - even as he felt a fat bead of blood trickle from his nose; he blinked through the involuntary tears that pricked his eyes, and resisted the urge to lick the blood from his lips. It would only make him retch.

“Unbelievable,” Cal said as he cuffed Dax’s other wrist. The fight seemed to have went out of the trouble-maker like a switch had been hit, but he was still grinning through bloodied teeth, “Un-fucking-believable. We’re holding on by the skin of our teeth here, and you assholes are kicking the shit out of each other like we have men to spare.”

“He started it,” Remy said, all piss and vinegar even though he was no longer tugging against Mason’s grip.

“I don’t care who started it, I’m finishing it. And you oughta know better, Remy; you’re only just on your feet. You want to be out for another week?” Cal said, and Dax snorted with laughter, “Someone want to tell me exactly what happened here?”

“Nothing worth talking ‘bout,” Mason said, cutting his eyes at the people still gathered around. He was already embarrassed enough, he just wanted to leave, “Dax being Dax.”

“He put his filthy hands all over Mason,” Remy said defiantly, “Fucking pig.”

Cal’s irritated expression drew into something harder, more serious. He tugged on Dax’s cuffs, “That true?”

“Aw, c’mon officer, don’t be jealous - I got time for you too,” Dax said, pushing himself back against Cal who immediately shoved him away.

“I’d kick your ass myself if I thought we could afford it,” Cal said with a hard slap to the back of Dax’s head. He pushed him again, this time in the direction of the cabins, “Go on, get walking.”

“If you ever get tired of playing with boys, you know where you can find a real man,” Dax said with a wink, risking Cal’s wrath to get one last jab in. There wereas a few smirks from what was left of the gathered crowd, and Mason felt himself shrink by inches, like he could hide behind Remy. 

“Keep moving, asshole,” Cal said with a swift hit to Dax’s kidney that left him squirming in pain, but at least got him walking. When he turned his eye to the lingering onlookers, they were quick to disperse too, sheepishly avoiding his gaze and muttering about getting back to work. When they were out of earshot, he sighed heavily. For a horrible moment, Mason thought he was going to apologise for Dax’s behaviour, but instead he just shook his head, “You two take the rest of the afternoon off. Go get yourselves cleaned up.”

Just like that, they were alone again, almost like nothing had happened except Mason’s nose was still bleeding and Remy was breathing like he’d just run a marathon. Remy turned to face him and seemed to only just realise he’d been hit in the fight, his expression ticking through several emotions before settling on concern. He took Mason’s face in his hands and, swiped the blood from his top lip with his thumb.

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Been a while since I’ve been punched in the face. Forgot how much it sucks,” Mason said; he settled his gaze somewhere over Remy’s shoulder to avoid getting caught in the intense look he was wearing, played it off like he was squinting in the sun, “Can we go somewhere else?”

Remy’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, but he nodded and dropped his hands reluctantly. He took Mason by the hand and began to pull him in what he thought was a random direction until he realised where they were heading.

“The squat?” he asked.

Remy nodded again, “That fine with you?”

Mason considered it for a moment: he’d just assumed they’d go back to their room, rest and lick their wounds a little bit, but that did mean going off in the same direction Cal and the others had just went. In some twist of irony, the Squat would be more private despite being almost totally out in the open. He gave his answer in a small squeeze of Remy’s hand, a smaller smile.

The Squat - which is what Remy had named it, and it had kind of caught on - was a spot at the far edge of Haven, between a copse of trees and a slow, wide stream. There were a few places like it dotted around the compound, but this one was Mason’s favourite; he’d unofficially claimed it as his own, and the others were kind enough to let him have it. Over time he’d left his mark on it, bits and pieces he’d scavenged or been gifted: an old armchair, a metal footlocker, a couple of ragged rugs. He had more personal effects at the Squat than he did in his own room.

The way the sunlight filtered through the leaves and glinted off the water, catching in the wings of lazily dancing mayflies, made it feel like Mason was walking into a dream. It was quiet, no sound but the gentle murmur of the water, not even a breath of wind to stir the trees. Already Mason could feel the tension start leave his shoulders. Out of habit, he headed toward the armchair where it sat in the shade of an old beech tree, tucked beside his footlocker, but Remy steered him towards the bank of the stream.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Remy said. He tugged off his shirt, gestured for Mason to sit on the soft grass. Mason watched the way the slope of his back tensed and flexed as he crouched, soaked part of his shirt in the cool, clear water; he rang the excess out and came back to him. He took his chin ion one hand and began to carefully dab at the tacky blood on his face. Mason had to force himself to not jerk away - he knew Remy wouldn’t hurt him.

“You’re gonna ruin your shirt,” he said, only half-protesting. He could wash his own face, but Remy wanted to do it for him. 

“It’s just a shirt. Got plenty of them,” Remy said with a one shouldered shrug. There was a seriousness about him that made Mason feel guilty, though he didn’t rightfully know what for. Remy was meticulous in trying to get all the blood out of his beard, but he seemed to take note of Mason’s reluctance, “You sure you’re okay?”

“It ain’t broken,” Mason said. It hadn’t even been a hard enough hit to bruise, just left him a little tender. He’d been more surprised by it than hurt - but he supposed that wasn’t what Remy was asking. He let his gaze drop to Remy’s chest, to the almost-healed bruise over his ribs where Dax had taken a few potshots, “What about you?”

“It ain’t broken,” Remy said with a wry smile that was more infectious than Mason would have admitted, “A cheap shot from a cheap bastard. Smarts a little but I’m fine - no worse off than I was, anyway.”

Mason flattened his palm against the barely-there bruise, not putting pressure on it, just feeling the warmth of Remy’s skin and the steady rise and fall of his breathing. He was sure his face was clean already but he didn’t stop Remy from tending to him; the damp material felt good against his overheated skin, and the attention was kind of nice too. By the time Remy flipped the shirt over and patted him dry, he felt like he could doze off right there in the grass. 

“Good as new,” Remy said after a moment’s appraisal, and tossed the shirt aside. He took Mason’s face in his hands again, this time to guide him into a kiss. It was gentle, a sweet reassurance, and Mason put up no resistance. He wasn’t a soft man - neither of them were, but he wanted it, wanted Remy and all the comfort he could give. He parted his lips, tried to deepen it, to invite Remy to take a little more if he wanted to; the fingers cradling his cheeks found his throat and he shivered.

Remy pulled away, panting softly. He touched his forehead to Mason’s, eyes closed; he slid his hand to the back of Mason’s neck and squeezed, “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. If I hadn’t stopped to talk to--”

“Remy, don’t,” Mason said, his mouth twisting, “Don’t do that to yourself. Nothing happened, Dax was just being an asshole.”

“No. No-one gets to touch you like that without your permission. Not now, not  _ ever _ again,” Remy hissed, “That son of a bitch is lucky I didn’t break his fingers.”

Mason opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. His stomach dropped; the edge in Remy’s voice made him realise this was more than simple jealousy or protectiveness. He knew why Remy had lashed out the way he had, and it was nothing to do with his temper. Mason dragged his hand from where it still rested on his side, up to his chest. He rubbed a soothing circle over where Remy’s heart would be and nodded, even as his own ached for him.

“Thank you,” he said. He meant it. He didn’t want Remy to think like he had any obligation to stick up for him, or that he’d failed him somehow, but he knew that part of him felt like it could keep Mason safe and he needed that. 

Honestly, Mason needed it too.

Their lips met again, this time just shy of chaste. There was a hunger there, more so than usual, at least, since it was always just under the surface - jesus, how could it not be when Remy looked like that, looked  _ at  _ him like that - but he didn’t feel the pressing urgency that often followed. He felt like he could take his time, savour the sun and the growing heat in their kiss, slow and steady as the rolling stream they were sitting by. 

Mason rolled his thumb over the nub of Remy’s nipple, pinched it lightly until he gasped against his mouth. Every noise of pleasure, every sigh or moan or laugh he could draw out of Remy felt like a victory - not because he was hard to please, not at all, but because he felt like he was still so new to it all. It was equal parts overwhelming and perfection, having the chance to learn all the ways to make Remy feel so good each and every new day. He deserved it. He deserved the best from Mason.

Remy rocked back on his heels to tug Mason’s shirt off, then practically crawled into his lap, urging him to lie back on the soft grass. Mason twined his arms around him, stroked his hands down his back. He smiled up at him, shaded from the sun and quite in love.

“You’re gonna get burned out here like this,” he teased. Fair haired and freckled, he was sure Remy was not the kind of person who tanned easily.

“Worth it,” was all he said in response, eyes creased in amusement as he carded his fingers through the hair on Mason’s chest, making him squirm. Mason was inclined to agree: it was worth it when Remy kissed him a little too hard, making his nose throb when he bumped against it. It was worth it when Remy put his full weight on him as he laid out on top of him, making it just a tiny bit harder to breathe.

Ah, well, it was always harder to breathe around Remy anyway.

Almost without thinking, Mason parted his legs a little for Remy, encouraging him to settle down between them. They twisted together like snakes in the grass, tasting, touching, hands roaming both aimlessly and with an eventual purpose in mind. Until that point, Mason thought it could go either way: melt away into soft-eyed cuddling, sleeping in the sun, or escalate. The way Remy hitched his hips settled any doubt with a long, low grind against him. 

Remy propped himself up on one elbow, took Mason’s hand by the wrist, encouraged him to bring it back to his chest with a knowing smile - not that Mason needed much encouraging, but sometimes he needed a gentle reminder that he had two hands and was more than welcome to use them. There wasn’t much space between them to maneuver, as closely entwined as they were, but it just meant Mason could feel the shiver that ran through him when he squeezed his pec, massaged it; he rolled his hips in time with his thumb, feeling the sensitive nub stiffen under his touch, matching the arousal pressed into the crease of his thigh. 

Mason lifted his chin, seeking another kiss; Remy by-passed his mouth and nuzzled at his jaw, his neck, teeth grazing the junction between it and his shoulder. There was no hiding the sharp exhale of breath that left him, and it seemed to urge Remy on to be bolder, nipping a little line back up to the hinge of his jaw, sucking and licking a mark there like a signature, only half-hidden by his beard. Everyone would be able to see it any time he turned his head and there was something about that, being marked, a subtle flourish of ownership, that made his gut feel hot and tight. It was a message - to Dax, to Haven, to Mason himself, one he was surprised exactly how excited he was to hear.

“I can feel how much you like that,” Remy said, and flicked his tongue over it. He was grinding against Mason shamelessly now, both of them hard in their jeans, red cheeked and borderline breathless, “Want me to give you a matching one on the other side?”

“I want you--” Mason began and then stopped, because even after all that they’d done together, sometimes it was still so hard to ask for what he wanted. He glanced down at his hand, “I want you to touch me.”

Remy’s brows bounced when he said that, and his grin grew by inches. He pushed his hand between them, rubbed Mason’s cock through his pants with the heel of his palm, barely enough pressure to feel it, “What, like this?”

“Remy,” Mason said plainly. He couldn’t even be annoyed by it, he knew Remy was teasing himself as much as he was teasing Mason; there was something to be said for a little delayed gratification, “C’mon.”

“Oh, you mean like--” Remy deftly opened Mason’s fly, wrapped his fingers around his aching cock, drawing a shuddering breath from him, “--this?”

Mason nodded with a half-laugh, his lashes fluttering. He’d never get over that, the feeling of another man’s hand on him, hot and strong, palms calloused, fingers sure; it was perfect. Remy was perfect. He pushed his own hand down from his chest to brush over Remy’s, dipped the tip of his fingers beneath his waistband, “I want to feel you too.”

It wasn’t often that Mason managed to catch Remy off guard, but how his fist tightened minutely at the earnest request felt good in more ways than one. There was a moment of clumsy struggling while he tried to shuck off his boots and pants without having to break contact; Mason simply arched his hips off the ground for eager hands to yank his jeans around his thighs too. He wasn’t going to be the passive party but he didn’t mind letting Remy do a little of the work if he was in the mood for it - and  _ what _ a mood he seemed to be in as he slid back in between his legs, his teeth grazing Mason’s earlobe as he took their cocks in one hand and stroked them gracelessly. It was like he didn’t have enough hands for how he wanted to touch him, a hundred strokes and nips and kisses anywhere he could reach that left Mason feeling coveted, cared for, edging on the sweet side of overwhelmed.

He wrapped his hand over Remy’s, securing their grip, encouraging him to slow down a little. He wanted to savour it, the slow slide of their cocks against each other, of their tongues against each other, sharing breath, hips in sync as they rocked together. Mason could feel the sweat beading on his brow again, heat from the sun even as Remy shaded him, heat from Remy himself; he swallowed it down, let it wash over him like the climb of his fast approaching orgasm. It wouldn’t always be summer, and maybe Remy wouldn’t always be with him like this, but he was determined to make the most of the good times while they were around. 

Remy came first, pushing his moan past Mason lips in a blinding, biting kiss. He pulled away, hot breath against Mason’s neck, but kept stroking even through his own shuddering aftershocks, not until Mason came too, their cum smearing a slick mess between their stomachs. Even then he didn’t truly stop, only slowed down until Mason had to push at his wrist with a tight-throated whine at the overstimulation. He pressed a tiny peck to his chin like an apology, and Mason rubbed his scruff against his cheek in revenge, making him laugh. Remy sat up, out of reach of his scratching; he trailed a finger down the curve of Mason’s nose, over his lips, down his throat to the center of his chest. His playful smirk softened into something that made his stomach flip, and Mason put his hands on his hips like he was stopping him from floating away entirely.

“God, you’re so fucking--” Remy began, then shook his head with a laugh, “Look at you. How could Dax think he deserved you? How could anyone.”

“You do,” Mason said on reflex. It took a second for his brain to catch up with his mouth, especially with the way Remy was looking at him, like he was something precious, a piece of gold plucked out from the riverbed, “You deserve me, I mean. Just you.”

Mason didn’t mean it to sound like he thought he was some special prize, more that he only wanted Remy - and beyond that, he only wanted to be wanted  _ by  _ Remy. Everything else was irrelevant. He didn’t think he had the right words to explain that eloquently, but the tilt of Remy’s head let him know he understood.

“You’re mine,” Remy said, somehow both a question and a statement while not really being either. Mason wet his lips, nodded. He wanted to be. He was trying to be, and he thought maybe he was. He silent answer lit up Remy’s smile again, bright eyed and shining. He glanced down at the mess they had made and suddenly frowned, “There’s spunk in your belly button.”

Another non-statement. Mason huffed a laugh, “Yeah, and it feels disgusting. You gonna sit there all day, or can I get up and washed?”

“Don’t tempt me, you’re comfier than you look,” Remy said, but rolled off to the side anyway. Afterall, it wasn’t just one of them that needed to clean up. He waited until Mason could finally shirk off his shoes and jeans that had been tangled around his knees before offering him a hand, which he gladly took.

Predictably, Remy was the first one into the water. Mason hung back on the bank, watching him closely to gauge how cold it was - there was no grimacing, shivering, or extremities suddenly turning blue and falling off, so he figured it was safe to follow. He waded in after Remy, reaching out for him as though he had to steady himself in the weak current. The stream came up to Mason’s mid-thigh at its deepest, nearly hip-deep for Remy.  They’d left their clothes on land so they had to make do with sluicing cupped handfuls of water over themselves to wash off instead.

At some point, Remy had splashed a little water on his neck, carded his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, pushing it back almost like it had been slicked that way. Mason was so used to seeing him with it falling all in his face that he was a little taken aback by such a simple gesture. He’d look gorgeous no matter, but it was a fine thing to be able to see all his sweet freckles so clearly, the strong cut of his jaw, the sweep of his cheekbones. He tried not to stare but he was caught out anyway; Remy flicked water at him, grinning. He made no secret of watching Mason in turn, lips quirked like he was pretty pleased with what he was seeing. He’d always been pretty open with his desires, his affections, something Mason was still trying to learn, but there was that grain of disbelief he could never quite shake off. All the things they’d done, all the promises and declarations, all the gestures grand and small - and Mason still had to resist the urge to check there was no-one standing behind him when Remy looked at him like that.

“Why do I feel this whole washing business is about to be pretty pointless soon as we get out this stream?” he asked with a bob of his head.

“‘Cause you’re a smart guy,” Remy said, grinning as he stepped into his space. He scooped up a little water, let it run over Mason’s sun-kissed shoulders. He followed the water droplets that ran down his arms with his fingers, and he didn’t know which brought him out in goosebumps, “Besides, who said we have to wait until we’re out of the water?”

Remy reached around him and grabbed his ass hard enough that Mason had to rock onto the balls of his feet to avoid staggering into him. It didn’t hurt but he gave a grumble of protest anyway, earning his a sharp swat across his asscheek. 

“H-hey now--” Mason said, his face flushing at the simple gesture.

“Don’t like it?” Remy asked. He rubbed the cheek he’d smacked; it didn’t even sting but it felt warm, and Mason didn’t know what to make of it. He floundered for an answer, settled on a shrug, “You got such a sweet ass for it, tight as a drum. Made to take a little pounding now and again.”

“C’mon, don’t say it like that,” Mason said, nudging Remy’s arm like he was trying to dislodge him - he wasn’t, but he probably should have for a pun that bad.

“I can be gentle instead, if you’d prefer,” Remy went on, his mouth close enough to Mason’s throat he could almost feel the brush of his lips. He slipped a finger between Mason’s cheeks, ghosted one over his entrance; immediately he stiffened, unable to stop the noise that escaped him. The water did little to ease the drag but hell, such a simple touch still felt so good, “Would you like that? Do you want me to be good to you?”

Mason had to hang on to Remy’s shoulders since he didn’t trust his legs to keep him steady, not when he was carefully, deliberately spread open like that, the most intimate part of him exposed. He nodded, eyes fluttering closed, caught between wanting to curl himself around Remy and needing to push back against those steadily circling fingers - there were two of them now, not trying to push in, simply rocking against him in an almost hypnotic rhythm. 

There was an empty feeling in his gut, one he was beginning to get pretty familiar with, a strange ache like Remy was the only thing that could fill him up again. His cock gave an interested twitch at the idea of it, even though it was so soon after he’d already came - there was only six years of an age gap between them, but sometimes it showed. 

“Remy--” Mason managed to sigh. Did he want him to be good to him? He was always good to him. He wasn’t sure there was anything Remy would do to him that he wouldn’t want him to, even if he didn’t always know how to ask. Mason arched his hips closer to him, looped his arms around his neck so he could kiss every inch of his face he could reach. Sometimes it was easier to speak with his body than it was to use works; Remy always seemed to understand.

They could hardly bare to untangle themselves for long enough to make it back to shore, graceless and pawing and needy. Remy led him over to the little nesting area he’d made beneath the trees with his rugs and the old arm chair. They’d forgotten about washing off properly but it hardly seemed to matter when they were just going to get filthy all over again.

“In the foot locker,” Mason said, as if Remy need reminding. Of course they both remembered perfectly well where the lube was kept, especially considering how much of a fuss Mason had made about keeping it in a sealed plastic baggy, just in case it had spilled over his prized stash of comics, hidden beneath a folded tarp in the locker. Remy had teased him mercilessly at first but he’d refused to be embarrassed by it - those were some of the last comic books around, and he’d be damned if he was going to risk them getting ruined.

The lid of the locker creaked loudly when it was opened and shut, and Mason’s pulse began to jump in anticipation. Remy turned to him, smile on his face, rustling bag in hand.

“Lie down,” he said, coming closer, tossing the empty bag aside, “I’m going to take good care of you.”

Mason folded like a deckchair on the nearest rug, cock mostly hard, hands nearly shaking. Remy knelt between his legs, stroked one burning cheek with the knuckles of his hand, carded his fingers through his beard. He urged him to lie back, just like he had in the grass on the riverbank, though this time he didn’t crawl on top of him. He nudged his legs open a little wide, raked his gaze down the lean length of Mason’s body, laid out for him like a gift. Mason thought he’d burn up entirely under that hot gaze; he wanted Remy to do something, anything but look at him. It was too much and not enough all at once. 

“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?” Remy asked, a husky edge to his voice. Mason reckoned the answer wasn’t ‘like a bit of roadkill’ from the way he was sprawled out, not when Remy took a hold of his own cock and stroked it lazily as he watched over him, “You have no idea about the effect you have on me, do you?”

“Show me,” Mason said. A challenge, and an invitation; a quiet plea for him to just  _ put his hands on him already, please god _ . Remy groaned like he’d been physically struck. He leant over Mason, hooked his hands behind his knees and folded to his chest with no preamble; he shuffled forward, slotting himself in the space Mason had just vacated so his shoulders were on the ground but his hips were on his thighs, lifting him at an angle. Usually a pillow or two wedge beneath him did the same job but the worked with what they had.

“You like there, looking like that, talking like that,” Remy went on, letting Mason’s legs drop on either side of him. He ran his hands along his thighs, apparently savouring the way he tensed at the simple touch as it skirted too close to his cock, “Like you have no idea of the power you have when you’re that fucking sweet, and you’re that fucking good, and you’re that fucking sexy. Somehow it makes it worse.”

Mason thought he would choke on Remy’s words. All the blood in his body seemed to have divided itself evenly between his face and his cock, leaving little to keep his brain going. He gaped at him as he reached for the lube he’d dropped, eyes fixed on the lid when it popped, “W-worse?”

“Better,” Remy amended, pouring a little slick over his fingers. He waited a few seconds, probably to warm it up a little bit, “Harder, maybe.”

Mason didn’t get the chance to ask what he meant before there was a finger at his entrance, mirroring the same gentle motions from the river. Any thought but  _ that _ was knocked clean out of his head as they slid into him, two at once; Remy took it slow, but it was obvious he was eager. Mason flattened his hands against the worn rug beneath him as he breathed through the ache - it was mild, since they’d been working each other so hard in the precious time they had left before Remy was fit to go out scouting again. Nothing he couldn’t handle. In fact, the slight burn when Remy scissored his fingers was good enough to tug a soft moan from him.

Remy’s eyes jumped to Mason’s face; he didn’t miss the way his tongue flicked out over his bottom lip. Mason didn’t know if the way Remy was acting was entirely down to what happened with Dax, but he found he couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment - not when Remy crooked his fingers and took a hold of his cock at the same time, an attack on both fronts that left Mason squirming. 

A little more slick and Remy added a third finger. Some of his damp hair had fallen back into his face, and Mason couldn’t stop himself from reaching up to tuck it back behind his ear. Remy turned his head, pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, “Think you’re ready?”

Mason smiled, nodded; he was quite sure he was, but he might have said yes even if he wasn’t, he wanted Remy that badly. Remy pulled his fingers out with a parting twist of his wrist; still stroking Mason’s cock, he lined up his own, dragged the head of it across his entrance. He rocked forward slowly, pressing against him but not into him. He glanced up at Mason’s face again with a twitch of his brow; even half-desperate, he still managed to tease him.

“Remy, please,” Mason rasped, “C’mon, darlin’--” 

“C’mon, what? I want to hear you say it,” Remy said, repeating the same motion again, “I want to hear you ask for it in the sweet voice of yours like you never do.”

“I want you to-- to put it--” Mason began but stopped when Remy shook his head slightly. He almost whined under his breath; he pressed a hand to his burning face like he could try and hide, “I want you to fuck me, Remy. I want you to fuck me so good I can’t hardly stand it, no more teasing-- please.”

Seemingly satisfied, Remy exhaled sharply as he pushed into Mason in one steady, slow slide. Mason thought he was going to forget how to breathe; the angle he was lying made it feel like Remy was so impossibly deep, cock pressed hard against his prostate. He barely had the sense to brace his feet on the ground as Remy began to thrust, giving him some leverage. He didn’t know if it was the position or simply the proximity to Remy, but the world felt fuzzy around the edges like a head-rush, nothing in focus but every part of his body where they touched.

Remy was mumbling something under his breath, more than likely a string of hapless curses; his head was bowed, his eyes hazy as he watched Mason take his cock so perfectly. He had one hand clamped on his hip to hold him in place, the other still jerking him in a rhythm out of time with his hard thrusts. Mason’s thighs were already straining from having to hold himself up in an unnatural position, but the pain was withing compared the the pleasure. 

Precum dotted his stomach, smeared there from Remy’s knuckles; Mason took a hold of his wrist, pulled the hand off his cock, tugged it towards his mouth. It forced Remy to stretch a little but he didn’t care, they were both close anyway; as soon as Mason’s lips wrapped around two of his fingers, tongue rolling to taste himself, it was like a switch had been hit. Remy swore again - loudly this time, not under his breath - and curled over Mason, folding him as far as he could just to kiss him around his own fingers as he came. Mason worked a hand between them just for those final few tugs to bring him over the edge so close behind, cum streaming his chest, pooling in the hollow of his neck because of the angle.

After a long, shuddering moment, Remy still hadn’t moved and Mason was struggling to catch his breath. He tapped him on the side almost politely, bringing his mind back from wherever it had wandered; he carefully pulled out of Mason and rolled to the side, letting him unfurl like a flag, still panting. He gave Mason a whole five seconds to recover before he rolled over again, tucking himself against his side with his head on his shoulder - not that Mason minded, of course. 

“Y’know,” Remy said slowly, “You don’t get to play the bashful card any more if you go and do something like that.”

“Like what?” Mason asked innocently; Remy prodded him in the ribs, making him squirm away a few inches. He turned his head, pressed a wobbly kiss to Remy’s hair, still damp but no longer neatly pushed back, “Rem, can I ask you to do something special for me?”

“Anything,” Remy said without hesitation. Mason believed him.

“I want you to forget about Dax,” he said. Remy was quiet a second, like he was wrestling with it.

“Forget about who?” he joked weakly. Mason nudged him.

“I’m being serious,” he said, “He’s an asshole, but I don’t want this carrying over into bad blood between you two. Cal was right: we can’t afford to start acting the fool over every stupid slight.”

“It wasn’t stupid--” Remy began, but Mason stopped him mid-sentence.

“I know. It wasn’t right,” he said, “But I want you to promise.”

Remy’s mouth thinned to a tight line; he clearly wasn’t happy about it, but Mason was determined no feud was going to be fought over his  _ honor _ . After a moment, he looked away with a single nod, “Fine. For you, I promise.”

Mason creased into a smile; he was worried Remy was going to be stubborn about it. He brought his hand up to cup Remy’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip before he dipped in to kiss him, “Dax don’t know what he’s talking about anyway: I got a real man right here.”


End file.
